


First Kiss

by mochiinvasion



Category: The Lynburn Legacy - Sarah Rees Brennan
Genre: F/F, Gen, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-01 00:25:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1038163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mochiinvasion/pseuds/mochiinvasion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And somewhere, Holly thanks whatever prompted Angela to bring them here to rewrite the memories of death with the memories of something brighter, something happier and something infinitely more promising.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote the first Holla fic. It was me.

They both agree that the first, desperate, rushed attempt does not count. It was a mistake on both of their parts, signals misread and misgiven, clashing desires and the slow change in understanding. It takes months of bloodshed and pain and danger, of watching their friends fall apart at the seams and being strong for them because they had to, it takes desperate swings of a chain and the secrets of a town being unwoven around their ears and fraught hands linked together in a chain of strength. 

Angela, for her part, remembers the interim as her being torn in two – between the deep love she feels for Kami and the need to protect her and support her and the slow burn of love unrequited, mistakes made and hearts torn. Holly remembers it as the tragedy of a fallen family, the confusion of secrets of her and her town unearthed and the slow shift in opinion until she finds herself watching Angela in the moments in between and thinking “yes, it could be okay.”

They await the moment and yet the moment never comes – they were linked, first and foremost, by their love for Kami and it their love for her that stands between them, as red and gold and broken hearts delay and twist and burn.

It is, instead, spring when it happens. The town itself is still recovering and its inhabitants work hard to put the shattered remains of their lives back together. Angela spends long periods of time away, blazing every ardently with the fierce spirit of love and protection that defines her even as she professes her hatred for the world and flings herself upon couches artfully to leave Holly staring at her when she thinks no-one can see. One morning Angela mentions that she intends to visit the forest and they are still too afraid to visit alone (or too scared to leave each other alone) so Holly volunteers to accompany her. 

The sun is peeking through the trees when they leave and it brings out the flecks of red in Angela’s dark hair, painting her skin almost gold as they walk along. Holly wonders for a second when she began to notice things like this – she remembers the day, the very minute even, that she first understood that the way she saw Angela differed from the way she saw the rest of the world, just a little more in focus, a little more defined. And yet, she finds it hard to put a pin on the point in time where she could notice little things like the furrow of her brow, the exact way she pinned her hair out of her face or the precise angle at which her arms jutted out, hands shoved into her coat pockets. 

She walks with the speed Holly normally associates with Kami, and she cannot tell whether it is to escape her or the town looming behind them and the blood that seems still to sit on its streets. Holly follows her further into the trees until they reach the pools, still irrevocably twinned with death in their minds, and Angela watches the water, trying to coax the words from her throat.

They stand beside each other, close enough that a stranger could wonder, not close enough for either.

“I tried,” Angela says, “I really did. Something always seems to get in the way and it never sounds right. And it wasn’t supposed to happen until later. I was waiting.”

Smoke and mirrors, misdirection, and Angela is always so confident that Holly aches a little to see her trip over the words.

“I kept trying. I always thought, eventually, the moment would come and it would make sense. But it never ever does.”

“It’s fine. I can’t say I understand, because I’m still getting to understand this. And it felt fine for me for so long, that I was happy with boys that only want me for what I look like and never who I am. And then you come along and you’re all kindness and fierceness and protection. You let me stay at yours when I couldn’t be at home and when you knew the first time was a mistake you never tried again and even though you were angry, you were never too angry. I don’t understand you, and I don’t understand it but –

But I don’t want to keep waiting.”

She turns so that they’re facing, takes Angela’s hand to hold and kisses her. 

And somewhere inside her, Holly wonders why she waited so long for this.

Kissing someone roughly your own height is odd, and it’s a relief not to have to lean up to match her. Angela’s skin and lips are smoother than those of the boys she normally kisses, and when she raises her other hand to Angela’s waist to steady her body, the inwards curve is not what she expects. It is soft and natural and unsteady, no hint of it being a means to an end but instead purely the end itself, unhurried and impassionate while still being loving. Angela, she remembers suddenly, has never kissed anyone before, and she takes that as her cue to lead her along, guiding Angela’s hands onto her waist and wrapping her own around her neck. 

They break apart to catch their breath, and Holly marvels at how good it feels to stand as close to Angela as she does, how each point of contact between them sends pinpricks of shivers up her spine. She closes her eyes for a second and smiles slowly, as her frantic heartbeat slows and the fear bleeds out of her limbs.

She spent so long debating this, so long wondering if she could do it and if so imagining how it would feel, so long trying to understand the appeal she could have to a girl like Angela and yet, in the moment, she finds that all her thoughts and planning do not matter. What matters instead is the palest hint of a blush on Angela’s cheeks, the way that her eyes drift down towards Holly’s torso rather than her face, and the way her hands feel against Holly’s back. Holly’s smile widens, and slowly Angela begins to smile back.   
She guides Angela’s head up again, presses another soft kiss against her lips and waits for someone to speak.

Silence surrounds them, the woods keeping their secrets as they always have. 

And somewhere, Holly thanks whatever prompted Angela to bring them here to rewrite the memories of death with the memories of something brighter, something happier and something infinitely more promising.

**Author's Note:**

> Written as part of a series of 31 challenges - the rest can be found on my dA (same name), hence the crappy title and shortness.
> 
> Disclaimers: I have never actually kissed anyone; this is set after the series ends but, as I have no idea how Unmade ends, with vague references to TLL-y things such as bloodshed and broken hearts*; when talking the two of them are always so awkward (it's adorable) so I used that as an excuse for my awful dialogue.
> 
> *Sarah actually said to us "I would never end a book with someone being stabbed, that's how you start a book." She also told me that Holla being endgame depends on both of them surviving, so I expect terrible things for Unmade. Apparently Holly also offers Angela a massage though, so perhaps everything is not lost.


End file.
